the shape of handprints

Some nights I dream I’m standing shivering
naked in a room full of crusty old men and
all the places where I’ve ever been touched
are red welts in the shape of handprints.

They call me a witch and a whore
drag me out of the town hall by my hair
tie me to a wooden bucket of rocks and
throw me into a river by the edge of town.

I always wake up before the water fills my lungs
but sometimes I have to go into the bathroom
to check that there aren’t any red welts in
the shape of handprints.